The Christmas Truce
by stryker131
Summary: In this AU follow-on to 'Mirror to My Soul,' sixty-year-old Federation Ambassador to Q'onoS B'Elanna Torres and sixty-three-year-old Neenah Day will celebrate Christmas 2409 wondering what happened to their pilot husbands and Flight Engineer Miranda Nichols. When all seems hopeless can an unexpected act of kindness from an unusual source make things right?
1. Thursday night, December 24, 1914

Chapter 1 Thursday night, December 24, 1914

German army Unteroffizer Heinrich Strassenbucher stared into the evening sky. The former Munich legal office clerk smiled, for he just caught a shooting star burning up in the atmosphere.

Strassenbucher supposed he had always been a buff stargazer. Long before this war began, the now twenty-six-year-old had been fascinated with the stars. As a child he loved to read translations of the French author Jules Verne. He supposed that started it, as did growing up in a family with money and having an astronomer father who worked at the University of Jena observatory. He recalled visiting that place in his youth when his father and the other scientists would allow him to clamber up the steps at night to the observation deck. There he would take a peek through the sophisticated optics, his vivid imagination contemplating life on other worlds and even the possibility of his becoming a space traveler one day. That would indeed be something!

But for now his memories were set aside as bleary eyes shifted to a different eyepiece. This one was the spiegelkolben attached to a Gewehr 98 rifle. The periscope-type contraption allowed him to look for any signs of activity from the British from within his own trench and take a pot shot at them unobserved. Still, even with a near-daylight bright moon at 2345 hours it was hard to see anything through that high-powered device on this clear but cold Thursday night. His tired eyes were failing him but keen ears nonetheless noted the jeers wafting from those opposing trenches not too far away, the same worn-out jests about Kaiser Wilhelm II and what he was doing to the 'arse' of somebody's mother.

Strassenbucher returned the modified 7.92 x 57 mm Mauser rifle with the 'rabbit ears' spotting device to Gefrieter Berthold Schmidt, the company sniper. He gave his skinny comrade a poke in the ribs with his elbow just to make sure he was awake.

"Es sieht aus wie die Briten sind ruhig heute abend, Berthold. Muss Weihnachten sein."

Schmidt grabbed the offered weapon and smiled a dirty grin, picking a few lice off his uniform in the process. True, it was too quiet, even for Christmas Eve. He whispered back in concurrence, adding that they had no artillery support tonight.

"Es ist zu ruhig. Es gefällt mir nicht. Und wir keine artillerie unterstützung haben. Keine beleuchtung."

A barely eighteen-year-old from Oberammergau with an elementary school education, Schmidt did not trust the enemy who was no more than 500 meters away. Although delighted to have an apparent lull in the fighting on Christmas Eve, he knew that any quiet period on this battlefield near the West Flanders Belgian community of Ypres was deceiving and potentially lethal. The deep crease in his helmet from a British .303 bullet had made that perfectly clear.

This bloody war in France had only been going on since August but far too many of Schmidt's comrades' were dead. British snipers, artillery, and machinegun fire took many of them while on patrol in 'No Man's Land.' After several weeks their rotting bodies still lay unburied about thirty meters to his front. But his keen eye and expertise at hunting meant that he had bagged a few of those Limey bastards himself, most of their corpses lying near his comrades in the half-frozen mud or caught in the tangled barbed wire.

Strassenbucher had listened to his comrade carefully and nodded his agreement with Schmidt's assessment of the situation. Now his eyes once again nervously scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. Yes, it was far too quiet, Christmas Eve or not. Artillery support would be nice, if things heated up tonight. Maybe their platoon leader could convince the company commander to ask for on-call fire support, just in case.

Satisfied that nothing of note was happening at least for now, the German non-commissioned officer removed his own coal bucket-shaped helmet. He scratched his greasy and matted hair then reached into his pocket for his trench pipe, the one with the light-diminishing spark arrestor. After lighting up, he placed a finger upon one nostril and blew his nose, ejecting the snot with some force. He was happy to have missed his crusty sleeve this time.

He had no sooner replaced his headgear and took a drag when something odd occurred down the trench line by the command bunker just to his north. As he looked on in horror, his platoon leader, Oberleutnant Reynard Krauss, was being incredibly stupid. Krauss had crawled up on top of the trench sandbags right behind the barbed wire and stuck a tree, a Christmas tree, in the ground! And now he was lighting attached lantern candles and singing out loud, violating his own rules regarding noise and light discipline. The twenty-five-year-old Krauss, who as a civilian had distinguished himself with the Staatsoper Unter den Linden or the Berlin State Opera, now stood fully exposed to enemy fire.

 _The damned fool!_ , thought Strassenbucher. He quickly moved his stiff and tired body towards the officer to tackle him but it was too late. That magnificent soprano voice was already unleashed. Loud and clear, the officer's voice shattered the stillness that hung over the battlefield.

"Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht! Alles schläft; einsam wacht. Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar. Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar. Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh! Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!"

The officer paused, his eyes closed in silent prayer as he anticipated his head being separated from his torso. Then from the opposing trench came the reply, not in bullets but in kind.

"Silent Night, Holy Night. All is calm, all is bright. Round yon virgin, Mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace! Sleep in heavenly peace!"

Strassenbucher crossed himself as he fondled his rosary crucifix, his Bavarian eyes staring at the scene in disbelief. That idiot lieutenant of his was still alive! But what shocked the German soldier even more was what he now observed coming through the moonlight. A long line of singing, candle-bearing British soldiers were leaving their trenches unarmed to slowly walk around the shell craters and the bodies of bloated and decaying horses and men. They carefully picked their way through the destroyed landscape while carrying white flags and shovels for a burial detail.

But there was more to this impromptu parade. Those same soldiers were about to share their tins of bully beef, a few bottles of confiscated French wine, bread of some sorts, and so many other items. And one young man had a football! A round, leather football for an impromptu match when it became daylight!

To Strassenbucher's amazement, his comrades had also put aside their weapons and rose up out of their positions to walk forward. They carried gifts of bottles of champagne and schnapps, meats and vegetables, and spare clean socks and warm gloves. The company cooking detail brought out a large soup kettle filled to the brim with steaming chicken and potato soup. Another large caldron contained mulled wine and yet another, coffee. Several dozen chocolate kuken also appeared along with other items that had arrived fresh a day or so ago from anxious families in the Fatherland waiting for news of their loved ones.

The two sides were intermingling now, hugging each other and singing that Christmas carol together with one voice. Although enemy combatants, they were remembering that even with all of the death and pain that surrounded them, they were so much more than comrades-in-arms on opposing sides. They were men, men so far from home who would be slaughtering each other once more within the week.

But not tonight. Not on this Holiest of nights. Across much of the Western front in late-December 1914, there would be a Christmas truce.

Strassenbucher, a Bavarian Catholic from birth, did not necessarily believe in miracles. But now he was convinced that he had just witnessed one. Turning to Schmidt, he mumbled if something like this would even be possible again in this conflict or any future war.

"Ich frage mich, Schmidt, ob sich irgendjemand irgendwann erinnern wird, was hier passiert ist? Ich frage mich, ob andere Soldaten jemals erleben werden, was wir jetzt sehen?"

For his part, Schmidt could only shrug his shoulders and smile, his mouth stuffed full of French bread and wine. Taking a moment as he munched, he stared upwards at the stars.

His comrade's questions came to mind. He had often heard Strassenbucher describe the Milky Way galaxy and listened to his crazy dreams of space travel and alien races. But being at war now gave those rants a different twist. Schmidt considered that if life did exist on other worlds, two warring sides may be slaughtering each other right now. And maybe, just maybe, they would also find a reason for one brief moment to stop killing each other.

The thought pleased him but also passed, for he turned to accept a handshake and a plug of tobacco from a dirty but smiling British corporal. And a greeting.

"Merry Christmas, Mate."


	2. Stardate 8302077 December 2, 2408

Chapter 2 Stardate 83020.77. Tuesday, December 2, 2408

It was now early December of 2408, several hundred years having passed since the Christmas Eve of 1914 when two German soldiers contemplated the stars shining above Ypres, Belgium.

As her New York-bound shuttle craft entered Earth's atmosphere, fifty-nine-year-old B'Elanna Torres, Federation Ambassador to the Klingon home world of Q'onoS, was contemplating a different war. Unlike the trenches of World War 1, the conflict preying upon her mind involved the Federation and its Beta Quadrant allies versus what the Borg had called Species 8472, a race properly known as the Undine.

Since 2375, this contemporary war had taken millions of lives on both sides. Torres recalled the conflict's complexity, not only because the destruction was so widespread but also because Undine worlds were hard to strike. The race existed in fluidic space and had entered the Beta Quadrant by creating temporal distortions.

B'Elanna had personal experience with the Undine and fluidic space from her time on Voyager. But she also knew that Federation scientists had struggled to find ways to enter fluidic space and destroy Undine colonies despite having access to former-Borg technology.

She recalled that this war began in part to the Undine's chance encounter with Voyager in 2373, and Captain Kathryn Janeway's discovery that the race intended to destroy the known universe. That had forced Janeway into an unholy alliance with the Borg and adapting their technology to Voyager's shield and weapon's systems. In 2374, after seeing the destruction of seventeen of their warships at the hands of Voyager, the Undine not only backed away from the Delta Quadrant temporarily but also came to view the Federation as more dangerous than the Borg. That caused them to later enter the Beta Quadrant where they killed important decision-makers on several worlds.

But it was not the typical killing and slaughter that made this war complicated. It had to do with the Undine's ability to shape-shift and replace those they killed with agents. By 2401, the Klingon high council had been infiltrated by what they called "qa'meH quv" or "replacers of honor with dishonor." It was discovered later that year that Councilor Konjah was actually an Undine. That led to his execution and the members of his house also being killed or fleeing into exile. In 2403, the Klingons eventually uncovered and exterminated a dozen of the changeling creatures who had penetrated the Gorn government and military.

In her capacity as a key Federation envoy, Torres had seen all of this unfold and more. In fact, she had just spent a year working with the Klingon government over mutual defense treaties to fend off the invaders. A few remaining loose ends now required her to visit Earth and meet with United Federation of Planets representatives in New York.

Torres was thinking that it would be good to see her family in person this holiday season but that was just wishful thinking. Her duties were so time-consuming that she rarely took official leave to visit them at any time let alone Christmas or New Years. Although as a half-human, half-Klingon those seasonal events were very important to her, her Klingon counterparts did not observe Christmas and she would be working long into the night that day.

As her shuttle prepared to land, Torres supposed that decades of living with her sixty-two-year-old husband, retired Starfleet Captain Thomas Eugene Paris, had prepped her somewhat for this career. Marriage was certainly diplomacy, when it came to patience anyway. Tom had exhibited extraordinary patience with her over the years, often saying that matrimony had no Starships, or Phasers, or Photon torpedoes. "Just words and opportunities, B'Elanna _._ " She smiled as she recalled those words and imagined her husband grinning at her as he spoke them. In what were now thirty-years of wedded bliss they had their share of both, words and opportunities.

Becoming a diplomat was something Torres had never really considered during her lengthy and distinguished Starfleet career. That was until four years ago when the retired commander and former Chief of Quantum Slipstream Development Branch received a personal request from Worf, Son of Mogh, to apply for the Federation Diplomatic Corps. They knew each other from her dropout post-Academy days on the Klingon home world and later on Deep Space Nine. In early 2385, he had used his Klingon skills to save her marriage. She owed him.

They, Tom and her, had discussed this opportunity for days. Coming out of retirement was not an easy decision, for either of them really. But after much discourse they agreed B'Elanna should do it. So she submitted an application with Worf's strong endorsement and surprising to her but not to Tom, she was accepted. That led to a full year at the Federation's School for Intergalactic Diplomacy at Harvard University, a hands-on one year internship on Bajor to learn the five Federation career tracks, and then a posting as Deputy Director for Intergalactic Cultural Studies in the Federation's consular office in New York. The position took Torres all over the Alpha Quadrant and she was seldom home. A year later, she was appointed Federation Ambassador to Q'onoS.

All of this was a radical change from being a Starfleet officer, Starship Chief Engineer, Academy professor, published theorist, and hardware developer. Plus 'just' being a wife and mother. B'Elanna now considered her current vocation and how difficult it was to have learned the ropes and terminology in a completely different career. Yet Tom was always there for her, offering his unqualified and loving support.

Torres wished she had it still. That man of hers was a rock, accompanying her all over the place when her duties allowed it. Throughout he worked feverishly on his celebrated holonovel series, a romance thriller based upon their lives aboard USS Voyager. It had not been an easy life but, for the most part anyway, a good one.

Being a diplomat instead of a Starfleet officer meant wearing a different kind of uniform, a custom-made navy blue skirt suit with a plain white blouse, black stockings, and high heels. Even at her age she still had flawless makeup and perfect but now greying hair, of course. For an aging woman, she was still attractive.

A bump in the air caused B'Elanna to gaze out a window. She spied the Statue of Liberty while unconsciously playing with her wedding ring, as she was so want to do these days. Her incisive mind suddenly turned to thoughts of family, as the pilot announced they were about to land. Her father, John Torres, had passed away several years ago, along with his brother. She saw her cousins infrequently; they all lived in Mexico but were planning on gathering in Aspen, Colorado, this Christmas with the Paris side of the family. But once again duty called and B'Elanna would not be there.

Tom's father Admiral Owen Paris was now deceased, as was his mother, Julia. Moira, Tom's oldest sister, was seventy-two and a widow. Her three daughters were all Starfleet but would be able to pick her up for the family gathering at Kathleen's luxurious winter cabin retreat. Kathy, the second Paris child, was sixty-seven. Her husband had just turned sixty-nine and was still working as a prosperous investment banker in Chicago. Their only child, Roger, was a Colonel in the Federation Marine Corps. He promised to make it home this year from Antares IV, along with his wife, Ellen, and their four children.

B'Elanna and Tom's superstar daughter, twenty-nine-year-old Starfleet Commander Miral Riker, was coming from Daedalus VI with her husband, Starfleet Commander Tom Riker, the son of retired Rear Admiral William Riker and retired Commander Deanna Troi. They had met as cadets when Riker was traversing the Buchanan Quadrangle. Miral spotted him first and it was love at first sight. The two were engaged right after graduation and married within a year. They were fortunate to have benefited from Starfleet's joint assignment policy, at least most of the time. Thoughts about her daughter had caused Torres to smile broadly; she was looking forward to a MIDAS call with her four-year-old granddaughter, Amanda Julia or just 'A.J.,' a beautiful little girl with but a hint of Miral's forehead ridges.

Michael Owen Paris or 'Mike,' Tom and B'Elanna's twenty-seven-year-old son, owned an inter-Steller import-export business. He had grown up despising his parents being Starfleet; the horror stories of the Delta Quadrant and Gen were too much for him. Military discipline was something he just could not tolerate anyway. Torres opened her purse and looked at her son's most recent holopicture taken with his fiancée, Andrea. She nodded, knowing her son had made the correct choice in both his career choices and personal relations. Tom had disagreed a bit; he was more than disappointed with Mike's not going to the Academy but thought Andi was a good match.

Torres gazed at the picture. Her son looked so much like his father at his age that B'Elanna began to sniff. She blew her nose and bit her quivering lip. Then she just could not hold back anymore and simply lost it, for a few minutes anyway.

What had brought on that flood of emotions was a combination of her husband's disappearance last month and also the holiday season in general with its good and bad memories. About this time many years ago her father had passed away. This time of year was also when Captain-grade husband Tom turned down the admiralty. She was furious when Starfleet legacy Tom announced his refusing a promotion to rear admiral. But he just smirked and kissed her silly, resurrecting a promise made long ago on Voyager that he would never take an assignment that required him to leave her. This one would have; two years on Bajor, unaccompanied.

Over his entire career, Tom broke his vow only once and that was when he assumed command of a Starship to go to war, his final assignment before involuntary retirement due to his bad back. While away he contacted her via MIDAS twice a day without fail for twelve months.

 _Tom is such a sap._ She sighed as she looked at his picture and placed a hand across her mouth to cover her emotion, wishing he could contact her wherever he was.

Now as the white and red official transport made its final approach into its docking bay, Ambassador Torres put Mike and Andi's picture away to gather up her six official secure PADDs and one non-secure personal device, a water bottle, and some snacks. They joined a cleared-secure brown briefcase crammed with personnel folders, signed visa requests, a draft talk on the future of Federation-Klingon relations for local business people, and dozens upon dozens of classified messages from many agencies. All of that would have to wait just a bit longer, as she took advantage of the onboard ladies room to pee and adjust that greying hair and perfect makeup one more time before disembarking.

B'Elanna's aide, the thirty-one-year-old brunette and Diplomatic Corps General Service Thirteen Mariah Gonzales, was already on her PADD contacting airport arrivals. This trip meant an official office call and a debriefing with Torres' boss, Consular General Adrianna Gleason. The two were close from Starfleet Academy back in the day, Torres having dropped out and Gleason opting to join the 'Corps.'

Adrian had never married; she was far too career-focused for that. And she was a crusty old bird like a certain single and retired Starfleet admiral B'Elanna knew very well. Yes, Adrian Gleason was a notorious perfectionist just like Admiral Janeway and, if it were possible, maybe just a bit more. Both Gonzales and Torres knew what was coming if B'Elanna was not in that office at 1000 sharp, not one minute sooner or later.

Exiting the now docked transport, the Federation ambassador walked through the hatch after thanking the pilots and flight attendants and wishing them a Merry Christmas. They responded in kind, watching as she walked slowly and gingerly down the ramp into the baggage area with her aide in tow, placing each high heel carefully on top of the black nonskid mat. Falling and breaking something would not do at her age; so many of her friends already had a hip or knee replacement.

A young man in the stereotypical Federation official navy blue suit approached her; a wire running from his right ear to a PADD. He held out his hand and B'Elanna shook it.

"Ambassador Torres! So good to see you again. We have your bags, Ma'am. They were beamed to Federation security and already cleared through the diplomatic lane."

"Thank you, Walt. And Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and your family."

She recognized Walter Emerson immediately, the well-known Federation personnel representative. By his expression he was desperate to say something more to her. But he remained silent, his face looking very troubled. Torres was about to ask a question when her non-secure PADD suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, messages flowing in from old friends and former members of Voyager's crew. Names of people she had not heard from in years were there but also dear friends such as Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay and his wife, Annika Hansen.

For a moment B'Elanna began to reminisce as the torrent of messages uploaded. It was hard to believe that Chakotay had turned seventy-nine this year; he was twenty years older than both Annika and B'Elanna who were the same age. Admiral Janeway was seventy-three now. Time has a way of moving along.

As Torres began to look over the list of messages an urgent one came in from her good friend, Charlie Day's wife, Neenah. Charlie and Neenah were both sixty-two, same as Tom. That message in particular surprised her but not as much as her mind still wondering why Walt did not respond to her seasonal greeting. His reaction and the volume of personal messages really confused her.

Looking up from her PADD, Torres noticed a growing crowd that was assembling even as she and Mariah exited security. The usual Federation Diplomatic Corps escorts schlepping her bags were there to be sure. Black-suited Federation security personnel hovered around with their signature dark sunglasses, earpieces, hidden Phaser hardware, and those PADDs of theirs constantly going off. _Nothing unusual_.

But now there _was_ something out of the ordinary. A stoic-looking Starfleet rear admiral was waiting for her along with his aide. Beside him was a Commander-level chaplain who offered a false smile. To his left was a civilian Betazoid counselor with her special e-PADD. And behind them were two highly-cleared journalists taking notes and holopictures.

As she contemplated what all of this meant, Mariah's husband, David, suddenly appeared, gathering up his shocked and laughing wife in his arms as he spun her around and kissed her passionately. Then he briefly waved at Torres as he quickly moved Mariah away, whispering something into his wife's ear. B'Elanna heard nothing but by her aide's crestfallen face she knew something big was coming down.

"Mom! Mom!" Suddenly Starfleet Commander Miral Riker came running towards her mother with tears pouring down her face and arms outstretched. Miral's husband, Tom, was walking behind, holding on to a squirming A.J. who was pulling his arm hard and calling out for grandma.

Torres ran to her daughter even as she noticed someone else was there but had stopped momentarily. B'Elanna was stunned to see that it was Neenah Day, now bent over and crying uncontrollably, her hands covering her face. Then the Gen woman ran forward seeking so much to hug her old friend.

But it was Miral who was now sobbing and hugging her mother tightly. The crowd backed away with the Admiral's indication, not wanting anyone to break the news. It was far better if family and friends did it.

B'Elanna cried a bit, trying to smile even as she hugged the slightly taller Miral once more. They murmured things that pass only between a mother and daughter, especially at Christmas time. It had been two years since last seeing each other in person.

Miral leaned back and wiped her eyes, for she had to get this out. But it was Neenah who interrupted and embraced the three of them, her cotton handkerchief soaked with tears.

Given the hubbub, B'Elanna of course knew that something was very, very wrong. But what could be worse than what she and Neenah had been going through for so many weeks now? Not knowing what happened to their pilot husbands, the flight engineer, and their experimental ship. Or even understanding how the craft and crew had just vanished without a trace. And not knowing where they might be located.

Now B'Elanna steeled herself for what she sensed was coming, given the horrified look on Neenah's and Miral's faces. Suddenly all of those non-classified PADD messages from friends had a purpose. As did Walt's forlorn look. And that crowd of dignitaries and specialists. Weeks of not knowing appeared to be over.

"What? Tell me, Miral. Daddy, is he…? Charlie and Miranda? Oh my God!"

She was holding on to her daughter's shoulders and looking into her eyes, tears welling up that turned into a cascade.

"Tell me. Please, Honey."

Miral couldn't hide anything from mother and had never even tried. Looking at her mom as only a disciplined Starfleet officer could, Miral wiped her face and gathered herself. Calmly and deliberately Miral announced what she had come to learn only two hours before.

"Mom, Starfleet thinks they know what happened to their ship. It's somewhere in the Delta Quadrant."


	3. Stardate 826668 July 14, 2408

Chapter 3 Stardate 82666.8. Monday, July 14, 2408

Months before Torres discovered what might have happened to her husband, B'Elanna shouted upstairs to the occupant of the family office in her home on Earth.

"Tom, for Kahless sake you need to come get your tea and then it is off to bed for both of us! That holonovel can wait until tomorrow and we need some sleep. I swear, you get so spun up over the details but I suppose that's what sells holobooks. The tea will relax your mind, Sweetheart."

"Yes, Dear. I hear you. Minute."

Tom Paris stretched and removed his reading glasses. He rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head, trying to clear it. Cataract surgery with a full lens replacement was coming soon but such was the price of getting old. He laughed when he thought about the 'golden years.' More like the Gilded Age, shiny on the outside and rusty on the inside. Still, he wasn't that old yet and his father had lived well into his eighties.

"Tom Paris! Get down here right now!"

B'Elanna's husband winced as he touched the computer screen to shut it off. _Damnit._ There was nothing worse than having writer's block when the unfinished chapter was due in three days. It was especially so when he had received a substantial cash payment in advance with a for-profit publisher hounding him every day. His rabid public demanded more of his very popular novels fast and of the same high quality. Downloads were off the charts and the income more than supplemented his retirement pension. But pressure, he supposed, was the price of fame.

"Tommy! Get down here right now! Now! I mean it." She stamped a foot for effect.

"Coming!"

The holonovel could wait. Tom's immediate concern was a very insistent wife who really wanted him out of their loft home office. In the old days that meant a raucous roll in the hay was forthcoming, with or without pain sticks. That still happened periodically but for now it was to just enjoy chamomile tea, talk a bit, get into flannel jammies, and flop tired bones into bed to read, watch a broadcast or holovideo, and then fall asleep in each other's arms.

As he gingerly moved with his bad back troubling him, Tom thanked God yet again for B'Elanna, so glad they had found each other and stayed married despite a tumultuous life. Many of his friends were divorced due to the pressures of a Starfleet career or suddenly being 'empty nesters' with nothing in common anymore. In some case their spouses were dead or maybe just declared missing. Tom understood that so many 'Fleeter' men and women never came home; their families had no clue as to what happened to them. Fleeter families lived in constant worry of losing a loved one and when tragedy happened most did not know how to move on or even if they should. But that was Starfleet professional risk; space travel was never safe, although people simply took it for granted.

Tom never took his beautiful wife for granted. When he woke up in the morning the first thing he did was kiss B'Ella and promise to devote his day to her. He had started doing that

several decades ago after they reconciled following what had happened on the planets Narcissus and Gen. It was the best advice a Starfleet chaplain had ever given them even though Bea really thought he was being more than mushy, even for her adoring husband. After a while, however, she did the same for him.

But that was not what was distressing his mind right now, as he shut down the computer. It was the PADD messages he had received an hour ago from his old running buddy, Charlie Day. Day, a retired Starfleet full admiral, had moved to Wichita, Kansas, with his wife, Neenah, to start a developmental deep-space shuttle program under Starfleet contract in the old Spirit Aviation facility. His Gen wife had opened a local psychiatry practice in neighboring Derby that served stressed-out Federation family members which, as she admitted to all, were far too numerous.

Tom knew that Charlie was proud of his twin children who were about to graduate from the Academy. Daughter Myra was one hell of a pilot already and made her 'Uncle Tommy' happily envious. As for Charlie Jr., well, he was going to be a Fleeter physician. That young man was blessed with a touch gifted to only the Quadrant's finest surgeons. His dream was to serve on Starships as Chief Medical Officer someday. Great kids, both of them.

Reaching for an empty PADD, Tom downloaded what was an unexpected business plan and contract and then turned the lights off to the office. He meandered downstairs, stepping over Roxy the cat and into the kitchen to find B'Elanna fixing their nightly pot of chamomile tea. She poured out two cups. For a woman in her very late-fifties, B'Ella still made his heart beat fast. She was strikingly beautiful and God did he love her.

"B'Elanna, I…."

"Tom, I…."

"You first." He indicated with a bow that his wife should take the lead.

"No, you." A laugh, as she touched his arm. She knew where this was going and couldn't wait.

"Flip you for it." Tom fished for a coin they both knew he did not have.

"No, I have a better idea, Tom."

B'Elanna liked this game; they had played it for years when they accidently talked over each other. She pulled her willing husband in and performed an immediate number ten lip-lock, her tongue running around with his. The first one to break for air had to speak second. Tom 'lost,' this time. Torres breathed inwardly and then out, fanning herself to cause her warm blood to cool just a bit.

"Wow. Ahem. I just received orders to return to Q'onoS, for a major security conference. I am sorry to cut our vacation short but we will have to leave on Wednesday. If you want to stay here and finish your holonovel and then join me later I _might_ understand, Tom."

Her eyes twinkled. B'Elanna did not want him to do that but he had a deadline to meet. It was his decision.

Her husband nodded appreciatively, as he rubbed his arm, knowing she was finished.

"Thanks, Honey. Maybe. I'll think about it. But that is not what is bothering me. Have you heard from Neenah Day? About…anything?"

"Noooo. Should I?" _Why would Neenah need to contact me_? She leaned forward and gave him a kiss. "Your tea is getting cold."

He shook his head. "Maybe not. Heard from her, I mean." Tom sat down in his blue silk bathrobe and B'Elanna did likewise in her black one, handing him a cooling mug. As he took it she glared at him with an all-too-familiar wifely expression.

"What's up, Tommy? You have that dreamy helmboy look in your eyes! The one you always got before you were either going to fly off someplace or take on a new assignment."

Tom sipped some tea. "I could use a bit more of that sweetener, Bea." He could do that himself of course but she dropped in a capsule anyway, noting he was doing that to delay what he had to say.

"Well?" She squeezed his hand. "Tell your old broken-down wife."

That brought a mega-laugh, as he stirred his cup. "You know you are still so damned hot!"

She smirked. Such an idiot, this man of hers. But he expected a genuine smile and he got it.

"I…umm…just got two notes from Charlie. A business plan and a contract. SpaceX Designs has developed a new shuttle, one that will make quantum slipstream hulls look like they are standing still. Charlie paired it with a new experimental propulsion system, for Starfleet's Quasar-class Starships. Highly classified stuff. Designated Project FTL-X. You've heard of it, I know."

As a systems engineer and now in the Federation Diplomatic Corps with a very high-level clearance, Torres of course heard of it. Just not all the specifics since she did not have 'a need to know.'

"Sure, Honey. All the science journals have been theorizing about it. I used to teach the concepts at the Academy ten years ago or more. But it was only a theory then. Something we called 'superluminal transformation.' Much faster than superluminal communications or tachyon bursts. It uses super-heated subatomic particles or SSP's to alter the structure of a specially-designed hull to create fluidity. A fluid bubble forms around your ship and you move within it as the bubble surrounds you. That produces incredible velocity as you travel through fluidic space; well beyond light speed, perhaps ten times faster or more. But like I said it is only theory."

Tom nodded as B'Elanna continued.

"Tom, no one can make the hull elastic enough to remain a solid but near-liquid consistency within the fluid to withstand both the transformation and the excessive heat of fluidic space at that velocity. The ship would be kind of like being made of slippery gelatin that hasn't quite set."

Her husband looked up at her, hopefully. "Any cookies tonight?"

B'Elanna sighed and found the nearly-full jar. It had been her mother-in-law's' and was an heirloom to be given to Miral one day.

"Raisin oatmeal. Sugar free. Made them this morning. So, you were saying, hotshot?"

She rubbed her face and yawned. _Getting drowsy._

Her husband cleared his throat and reached for a cookie.

"I was about to say 'not anymore.' Charlie has a working model, a ship with a hush-hush metallic coating made of synthesized chemically-induced properties that create the Jell-O effect. And it is Livermore, Sandia, Ko'hler, and T'Pek Labs replicated in independent testing. So it works. Most definitely works."

Paris reached for another cookie and took three. Bea had a way with baking cookies and pies, using old ovens instead of replicators. His mouth and belly always appreciated the results, his slight gut even more so.

B'Elanna immediately noticed several things at once when her husband spoke. Tom was rubbing his nearly-bald and very grey head, as he drank more tea and nibbled a cookie. But his eyes were glazed and far away, staring out into the void of space. She could swear he was at the helm once more, for his left hand twitched across nonexistent controls. He could never fly again, of course, due to often painful spinal arthritis from his long-ago back surgery on Gen. But she also knew that giving up the helm had been more excruciating to him than his back. His reflexes were still good but not as crisp as when he broke Warp 10 and was Voyager's 'best dammed pilot in the Delta Quadrant.'

Tom could not pass a flight physical even if he paid somebody. But B'Elanna knew that the old warhorse in him was chomping at the bit over something.

 _Shit._ "What does Charlie want, Tommy? Besides you?" She tapped the table with her fingernails.

 _Damnit! She always knows._ He finished his tea and cookies then began to speak slowly and deliberately.

"His experimental ship needs a deep-space test to ensure meeting Starfleet contract specs. He wants me to go along with him and some stud flight engineer through the Bajoran wormhole into the Gamma Quadrant, as a non-flying consultant. Starfleet will have an escort vessel and the contractor pay is good, B'Ella. And…."

Fully awake now, Torres' eyes grew wide both in amazement and a touch of fear. She abruptly cut Tom off, violating Household Rule 252.

"Tom Paris! Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind? I'm fifty-nine in a few weeks! You turn sixty-two in November! You haven't been in a Starfleet-grade shuttle in what…fourteen years? For a geezer you are still in great shape but…."

Her husband winced. "Thanks! I'll take that as a compliment. So are you, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, his blood suddenly very, very warm. Their Klingon blood bond had been everything it was cracked up to be. And more.

B'Elanna's own blood was so hot for him now. _Damnit, Tom! How the hell can I ever stay mad at you?_

Torres sighed. "Look, I know exactly what you mean, Tommy, and we will get to that very shortly. But you've gained fifteen pounds since retirement! And consult Charlie about what? You haven't kept up on this stuff, well, except for a twice a year check out ride in a simulator just for grins. And how long will this take, anyway?"

Tom rubbed his chin, feeling her bite mark as he also considered her biting questions.

"Time? Let's see. He needs a sure hand during the test, someone with a lot of hours in the seat who can watch this thing perform and make sound recommendations on the fly. That's me so I would start right away. We would prep and do testing in Wichita for two months at the old Spirit facility. In September, a Starfleet mother ship would transport the shuttle and us; Charlie, me, and the flight engineer; to Bajor. Then several passes through the wormhole into Dominion space, with their permission already secured. We would be back in mid-December, just in time for Christmas. And also in time for one of your deliciously wet holiday kisses under the mistletoe."

He winked at her. That did it.

"Tom! If you recall your Earth world history classes, everyone said during the Great War for Civilization that the soldiers would be back in time for Christmas in 1914. You are nuts! You have a loving wife in the Federation Diplomatic Corps. Great kids. A beautiful granddaughter. You have to pass an intensive travel physical for extended periods in space. With your bad back and those failing eyes, I…."

Her husband merely looked at her with his little boy eyes, nibbling another cookie.

"Damnit, Tom! You also need to get the proper security clearance, which means another special background investigation. And you have a holonovel to finish, for Kahless sakes. And…"

She saw his face change. He was smirking now.

"…you are going to do this anyway, aren't you?"

"Great cookies, Bea. More tea, please." Tom held out his mug.


	4. Stardate 8297423 November 13, 2408

Chapter 4 Stardate 82974.23. Thursday, November 13, 2408

"Charlie, all systems are reading green. We can proceed to the wormhole for the next run."

Flight Engineer Miranda Nichols, a Ph.D. holder in Spatial Engineering Design from Stanford University in California, had just completed the pre-flight checklist and notified the pilot. The thirty-year-old blue-eyed blonde had crammed her lithe, 6'2" frame into a specially-designed form-fitting seat that made her wonder about blood circulation.

Nichols was also admiring that man who was now in the comfort room peeing once again, the man whom she had developed a major crush.

Tom Paris.

Older men were never her thing. But this sixty-two-year-old guy had swept her away like a torrential flood. Maybe it was that he had spent hours in a Wichita gym, losing twenty pounds and rebuilding muscle. She considered that perhaps it was because he was a living legend, the first person ever to break the Warp 10 barrier. Or maybe it was how those blue eyes of his saw right through her. She wasn't really sure.

What she did know was that Tom cared about her. He was always inquiring about how she was doing after busting up with her computer geek boyfriend or asking about her sick little sister, Tammy. She had never known anyone who cared so much about others. And she just knew by his inquiries that he definitely cared about her.

The red flight-suited Paris came back to his seat, the portside one directly in front of Miranda's station. Tom's hand brushed her chair as he struggled to move into position due to his stiff back. Intentionally she leaned backwards just a bit, allowing his hand to graze her right shoulder. Electricity immediately shot though her body, straight into her pubic area.

"Sorry, Miranda. Not as limber as I used to be." Tom eased an aching back into his chair and buckled in.

The flight engineer gave him a quick grin in response.

"Oh, I wouldn't really know about that, Tom." _But I would like to_. "And congratulations are in order, Captain Paris. Today is your birthday!"

 _Birthday?_ He forgot.

Charlie slapped his buddy on the right shoulder, narrowly avoiding Tom's painful area.

"Hey, that's right! Happy Birthday, buddy. Heard from B'Elanna?"

Miranda grimaced involuntarily at that name but no one noticed. She was looking down at her screen and carefully watching the pre-flight data.

"Not today, although I sent out my traditional morning message to her. I am not sure about these comms and if they are getting through. MIDAS is really breaking up near the wormhole due to interference so I will check again once we reach the Gamma Quadrant and find a better relay."

Another year older. Tom rubbed a sore arm and turned to his life-long friend.

"I am glad that this is the fifth run of six, Charlie. For some reason, I really miss B'Elanna more than usual. It will be good to get home even if it is Q'onoS." He spun his wedding ring, a habit he had picked up years ago on Voyager when B'Elanna and he had reconciled. To him, touching that ring was like caressing her.

"Heard from Neenah?"

Tom's running buddy nodded in the affirmative.

"2300 last night," he said. "She sends her love. The message originated in Seattle, Washington, so she is probably visiting Charlie Jr. Our son is now stationed at Starfleet Bainbridge Island. He is on staff at the hospital there. Internship. Nearly over."

The comms crackled. 'Davis to Day.'

That Davis was Rear Admiral Ambrose Burnside Davis. He captained the USS Nashville, the quatum-engined escort vessel for this test. There were more than a few dignitaries aboard and a lot of mighty pleased ones so far. The way things were going meant that Starfleet would soon have an engine and a ship faster than anything in the known history of space travel, something that would revolutionize matters in the Milky Way galaxy and gain a significant operational advantage over the Undine in fluidic space. Of course, nothing could touch what the Gen possessed but thankfully there had been no contact with that species in decades.

'Day here.'

'Charlie, we are ready to proceed again. Follow the same procedure, as before. But ask Miranda to keep an eye on hull pressure and the heat displacers. Our science team has picked up a microfracture in the hull coating near the starboard exhaust port. Nothing to worry about yet nor are we sure what caused it.'

The transmission had no sooner ended when the blonde flight engineer hit a key pad button and replied.

'Admiral Davis, this is Miranda. I saw that report and just went over the numbers. I believe the microfracture was caused by intense heat being deflected off the central engine exhaust port when we last transitioned to fluidic space. That event meant the heat had to disperse to either the port or starboard exhaust ducts or maybe both. In this case, it went to starboard to join with that engine's exhaust, doubling the heat intensity and deforming the underlying metal shielding to bubble the coating. That would cause those cracks. We will need to make a few modifications later.'

Nichols smiled. She had responded precisely without deviating from the endless streams of data scrolling across her monitor.

Tom was impressed. She sounded a lot like his wife. _One smart and focused woman_.

"You sound a lot like my favorite engineer, Miranda!" Tom laughed approvingly but the Stanford grad did not appreciate his comment. She knew exactly who he was talking about and sighed. _Miranda_ wanted to be Tom's favorite engineer. How was she going to get this guy alone?

Day flipped some switches and pressed keypad buttons.

'Engines start up. Proceeding to the wormhole. All systems remain green.'

Davis acknowledged and ordered the Nashville to move ahead of the experimental pitchfork-designed ship. The fluidic vessel had an elongated white fuselage along with three engines in the back and steerable rear fins for use when entering an atmosphere where air maneuverability was necessary.

The ship's logo, the Starfleet insignia, was prominent on both sides of the pointed nose, as was its named designation, 'BN-1.' When a Starfleet admiral asked what that large decal stood for, Tom sheepishly looked at Charlie. Charlie was the designer and pilot-in-command so he could christen the ship. He simply said, "B'Elanna-Neenah. Number one in our hearts."

With a slight waggle as a final adjustment of attitude, the Nashville entered the wormhole under full impulse power to move through first and then to its designated intercept point. Davis was always apprehensive about wormholes; they were not the most stable of space phenomena. Sure, they cut travel time and distance considerably but were subject to sudden collapse, high radiation, and foreign matter. The Bajoran wormhole was the most stable known to Starfleet and for that reason had been chosen for this test. But that did not mean it was 100% safe.

When the USS Nashville entered the wormhole for Mission Five, everything appeared to be normal for several minutes. Nearly two-thirds of the way in, however, the ship experienced what could only be called a jolt. Collision alarms sounded as the onboard dampeners compensated. Admiral Davis could not stop the vessel to assess matters because the wormhole acted like a reversible current depending upon direction of travel, pulling the ship along at tremendous speed until it shot out the other side. Besides, the Nashville was not moving forward in a straight line anymore but was slowly spinning to starboard to exit facing rearwards. Helm control barely kept the ship steady and the crew was tossed about as if in rough seas.

'All stop. Damage report.' Davis calmly requested an assessment while contemplating the look of sheer terror on the faces of the Federation dignitaries. More than one were on the deck checking themselves over or praying to their gods. Thankfully there were no casualties on the bridge other than a few bumps and bruises.

Although the indicator lights showed weapons, engines, shields, transporters, and life support to be online, Admiral Davis heard no response from his Section Chiefs because comms were totally fried from an electrical overload. The turbolifts no longer worked, which meant each Section reported in by having a representative climb up the Jeffries tubes.

Below on Deck 10, Lieutenant Diana Smyth was in spatial geosciences evaluating the data as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. A red-headed MIT graduate holding a direct commission, her green eyes watched the mission information run once more through the computer. Then she saw it. It was so obvious to her skilled eye that she pointed right at the screen and tapped it with a fingernail.

Precisely where the incident occurred was a 'bulge,' what she would later describe in her report as a very large speedbump. It was as if the wormhole had burped internally. For the Nashville, as large as it was, the hull simply hit that bump and scraped its port side at an angle, which caused the ship to turn and then slowly spin as it moved along at tremendous speed. The anomaly was not large enough to do more than that.

But then a thought crossed her mind. _The shuttle!_

'Lieutenant Smyth to Captain Davis.' Nothing.

Her boss yelled from his office. "Comms are out, Di. Only way to report is to go in person. You will have to climb up to Deck 1."

Smyth slammed his fist on her desk and screeched in frustration. After gathering a printout she ran for a Jeffries tube access hatch. _Son of a bitch!_

On the other side of the wormhole, the BN-1 spacecraft attempted to raise the Nashville without success. Comms had been an issue within the wormhole so Day was not concerned. Using impulse, Day flew the ship into the spatial distortion the same as always; slowly, deliberately, and with enough forward momentum to be grabbed by the flow.

Feeling the effect of the pull in his skilled hands, Charlie reached for a panel and pushed the correct keypad buttons to place the ship into fluidic space. The vessel leaped forward immediately, its engines eagerly sucking in plasmatic-enriched gas as the bubble formed and the hull turned into a semi-solid gelatinous mass.

As with the Nashville, the ship moved rapidly along until it struck the speedbump. But unlike the very large and heavy Starship, the small and light experimental craft was moving at what would be considered Warp 125. When the fluidic bubble struck the anomaly it deformed, as did the ship's hull.

The crew barely noticed the vessel's exterior distort awkwardly and turn the ship slightly to starboard. Nor did they know that the experimental hull coating began to peel off in sheets as tremendous friction caused heat to build up instantaneously after the collision. All they knew was that several red indicator lights and alarms went off at once.

"Problem here." Charlie's announcement to the crew was followed by his skillful hands sensing something very odd. It wasn't good. Things were clearly amiss because the helm just did not feel right to him.

In the seat to Charlie's left Tom Paris felt it as well and watched the pitch and yaw indicators suddenly begin to oscillate wildly. He knew from experience that the ship was beginning a tumbling motion to starboard and tremendous velocity.

The experimental vessel was now thrown off course and moved at incredible speed. The force of the movement caused the ship to slice right through the starboard wall of the wormhole as if it was a hot knife through butter.

The fluidic space bubble contorted crazily as the ship passed through the wormhole's wall and into the Delta Quadrant without a hiccup. None of the three people aboard knew that they had entered the wrong quadrant. Moreover, they had no idea as to what had just happened. Nichols was shocked as she reported the ship's cosmic indicator showing they were now one calendar year's travel away from their original point of departure and moving at enormous, uncontrollable speed.

For Day, Paris, and Nichols within the doomed BN-1, all three were trying to do something, anything, to regain command of the ship. Charlie calmly tried to adjust the ship's attitude thrusters but to no avail. A still cool Tom thought through every possible scenario he had experienced in his career, actual or simulated, only to come up with no possible solution. At the engineer work station, the spinning ship had caused Miranda to smash her forehead into an access panel and then tossed her head backwards with violence. Bleeding profusely and with a concussion, she heaved her guts, spewing vomit all over the place. But she stoically remained at her station, adjusting fuel flow and engine cycles in an unsuccessful attempt to reverse the tumbling effect.

Soon a massive green blob suddenly appeared to their front, coming into view then going and returning again as the ship spun around and around. The two pilots looking through the forward observation panel knew that the object was in actuality a large planet approaching faster than either of them had ever experienced. They understood immediately what that meant, for they were tumbling into it with no hope of regaining control. Deep down inside, they both knew that this was it.

When facing death people sometimes consider past events or pray for salvation. Charlie recalled an old Starfleet axiom: 'There are no atheists on a battlefield.' In truth, there were three Christian believers sitting in their form-fitting seats praying to God. But each one was also thinking about different things.

Tom Paris was recalling his past experiences with fluidic space while on Voyager and how strange it was to be dying within it. He knew of only one lifeform that could even exist there and that was Species 8472, the Undine. He had a run in with them once a long time ago, recalling Voyager's Captain Janeway and her forced alliance with the Borg to kill these things. Back then their research showed that Undine bio-ships were vulnerable to advanced nanoprobes so Janeway had helped the Borg to develop the Nano-weapons that drove the species back into fluidic space. Tom recalled the Borg then unsuccessfully turning upon Voyager and how Janeway avoided assimilation while patching things up temporarily with the Undine. 'Temporarily' was indeed true, for they were now at war with that species.

Tom managed to grab Charlie's left hand with his own left and forced his twisted back to reach behind to touch Miranda with his right. He noticed that his best friend had his eyes wide open, a professional retired admiral who would face eternity with honor and courage.

Charlie prayed that his family would be taken care of. That was it. That was all he could think of at the moment.

Miranda was calm but gripping Charlie's shoulder tightly and praying silently to God to make it quick. Then the brilliant engineer almost laughed, as she considered her life such as it was.

Nichols had no husband to worry about; a busy career cost her that life and potential children. That pitiful boyfriend of hers wanted her only for sex. Then an image entered her brain, one of a guy who had chased her for months. He was a Federation Marine Corps Major by the name of Steve Bennet. The officer was stationed at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco and she had met him while doing some work for a black operations ship design. Miranda had mentioned him once to Tom, relating how that Marine had given her a globe and anchor pin to wear to the 2407 Marine Corps Ball, a formal dance that she refused to attend. Miranda had kept that pin for some reason but ignored Steve despite his asking her out many times thereafter.

After weeks of trying, Bennet gave up. Now Miranda wished he hadn't.

But none of that mattered anymore because the collision warnings were sounding and red lights flashed as their quickening pulsations illuminated the cabin. The ship was entering the planet's atmosphere at the wrong angle and in less than twenty seconds it would all be over. They would explode long before they hit the ground.

Of course the entire crew knew the deal by now but it was Tom's voice that suddenly spoke over the comms with calmness. He mimicked imperfectly a strained conversation he once had with someone he loved while floating in space with her so long ago as their oxygen was about to fail.

"Don't worry, I'm here. It will all be over soon."

Then that beautiful woman's face was there in his mind's eye. B'Elanna was standing right before him now, her arms outstretched and that infectious smile warmed his blood just as it always did. He broke contact with Charlie to reach out to her but she was gone.

Suddenly a piercing white light engulfed them and all went dark.


	5. Stardate 8307765 December 24, 2408

Chapter 5 Stardate 83077.65. Wednesday, December 24, 2408

Winter had been particularly harsh this year. The snow had drifted over sixty feet in portions of Colorado's Rocky Mountains and members of the Paris and Torres clans had difficulty arriving for their annual gathering.

For Ambassador B'Elanna Torres, however, Colorado was 4.5 days away at Warp Four, for she was on Q'onoS spending Christmas Eve alone. She had neither the time, energy, or interest to travel this festive season and her duties had demanded that she return after but a brief visit with Miral and her family earlier in the month.

Today there had been the obligatory Christmas gatherings among the various embassy staffs. Office parties such as these during a religious season were nothing unique, for B'Elanna had been raised Catholic by her father, John, until he had left her and her mother Miral. What differed this time was the tremendous amount of e-cards she received. There was also the parade of well-wishers dropping by her quarters bearing small gifts that she countered with cookies and coffee and tea. For that she was grateful.

Given Tom's disappearance, Torres had no reason to be in the holiday spirit. Yet, the situation did not prevent her from continuing a family tradition the two of them had started decades ago when they had Michael. Each year when duties permitted they went as a family to a 'Christkindlemarket' somewhere on Earth to drink traditional hot glühwein and cups of steaming cocoa. Then they would buy one Christmas decoration. Their last time was the famous market in Chicago. After picking out a knick-knack they wrote the date somewhere on it unless it was etched or otherwise identified. Miral and Michael would then jointly hang it on the Christmas tree and excitedly look for the 'pickle' ornament to earn a special cookie reward. Later, Tom and B'Elanna did the trip together unless their adult kids could join them.

Although Miral had continued the tradition and was now the keeper of most of the family heirlooms, B'Elanna's shaking hand managed to place a small ceramic angel on a sprig of Klingon knotty pine here on Q'onoS. She lit a few candles she had stuck upon the branches and recalled better days.

Her wrist chronometer indicated it was almost midnight on Christmas Eve. _Time flies._ She had gone to universal religious services at the Federation embassy at 1900 and that had inspired her to buy that Klingon piney sprig and take it back to her quarters. The angel was a gift from her Chief of Staff. Knowing the Paris-Torres tradition, Chief Nancy Ptosnik had carefully written 'Christmas 2408' on the bottom.

The parties now over, the Ambassador tried to relax in her pink flannel pajamas while sitting upon a fat, leather recliner in front of a real roaring fire in her luxurious quarters. The sleep outfit was Tom's favorite; he enjoyed cuddling with her when she wore it. His scent was still there from the last time they had made love as if they were newlyweds once more. She could almost feel his presence as her blood warmed.

Tom's incomplete holonovel was contained within in the PADD she held, having just read it through for the umpteenth time. It never grew old, especially his partially-finished draft chapter. Her husband had last written about an intergalactic race, a competition where a young man finally came to realize just how much a young woman meant to him. He had asked her to marry him right smack dab in the middle it. Tom never finished that part before he disappeared. But B'Elanna knew how it turned out. She had been there.

Now she thought that maybe if there were such things as miracles Tom, Charlie, and Miranda were still alive out there somewhere in the Delta Quadrant. Maybe good old Saint Nicholas would bring him home to her. She laughed at that one. _What a hell of a Christmas present that would be._

Torres had so much hope and faith in Tom. Her helmboy was a survivor just like her but exactly where he and the others were no one knew. All she understood was that the experimental ship had never cleared the wormhole. When the USS Nashville reentered to go look for them the anomaly was gone and so was any trace of BN-1. Scientists had looked for time fractures, slipstream troughs, engine signatures; anything really. All they turned up were unanswered questions. A search of the likely spots within the Gamma Quadrant turned up nothing and the Delta Quadrant idea was just a wild theory without evidence.

Torres was about to refill her hot chocolate for the fourth time and considered moving to the bathroom for relief when the comm screen beeped. She hit the receive button to see a smiling retired Admiral Kathryn Janeway. Beside her was a youngish woman with red hair and green eyes. Both of them were wearing black evening gowns and B'Elanna could hear Christmas music and laughter in the background. They were definitely at someone's home enjoying a party.

'B'Elanna! Merry Christmas! It's so good to see you. I would ask you how things were going but I really do not know what to say. You have been through so much in your life. My thoughts and prayers go out to you.'

Ambassador Torres smiled. Kathryn really hurt for her.

'Thanks, Admiral. Merry Christmas! And it is good to see you, as well.' Then she spotted the person next to Kathryn. 'And you are…?'

'Ma'am, I am Lieutenant Diana Smyth. Of the USS Nashville.'

 _The Nashville!_ B'Elanna now sat up, not caring that she was on screen in her pajamas.

Janeway could not wait for Smyth to speak so she started for her.

'B'Elanna, you know Starfleet command thinks that Tom and the others ended up in the Delta Quadrant. That was just a notion given the circumstances. But now they know where to look.'

Torres nearly dropped her mug. 'Where?' _That damned Delta Quadrant once again_.

'Diana. Tell her.'

Smyth smiled at her mentor and turned to speak to Torres who was nervous in anticipation.

'Ma'am, I was the Spatial Geosciences Officer during the BN-1 test mission and have been going over the data here in San Francisco. It wasn't making any sense. Wormholes are notoriously crazy but this one was so stable. That bump should not have occurred. Well, I went over everything a hundred times and then I finally saw what can only be called a 'wormhole rip.' I want you to see this yourself. This recording is the results of analyzing the DataStream that came from BN-1 through the wormhole to the Nashville during missions' One through Five. I calculated the reports as parabolic equations, portrayed them graphically, and then ran them over each other in different colors. Watch Mission Five; it's the red line. I ask that you pay close attention to the wormhole's starboard wall at thirty-three seconds into the flight.'

The screen changed to show five different-colored lines representing each mission with an icon of the BN-1 moving along each one. For four missions the line and icon went mostly straight. The fifth line suddenly took a major course correction and then the icon disappeared.

Torres knew exactly what that was. The ship had somehow been diverted. That was the bump. But why did it just disappear? Starfleet did not find any anomaly or wreckage.

'It took a bit of calculating, Ma'am, because the shuttle hit a speedbump, the same one we struck. But it hit it differently. The shuttle was a smaller object and travelling so fast that it careened off of it in fluidic space and went through the starboard wall of the anomaly. I used some very sophisticated compilers in San Francisco to calculate the exit point. Given speed, distance, and velocity, we….'

"Correction. Not we. You, Diana. You figured it out." Janeway had interrupted the young officer and was smiling so hard she might have burst.

The retired admiral knew this young woman was so talented but also so humble. She had promise but needed mentoring in how to take credit without appearing to be self-serving. Janeway was happily doing that, so glad to have a purpose once more. She hugged her shoulder and Diana grinned.

"Yes, Admiral, but I was just doing my job."

Turning to Torres, Diana continued. 'Anyway, the BN-1 should be in the Delta Quadrant as was assumed. It should be near the Telos system, about one calendar year's travel from the wormhole. The course prediction to that system falls within a 95% confidence interval.'

 _One year! Damn!_ B'Elanna's hands suddenly shot up to her face and tears filled her eyes.

'Oh God, thank you, Lieutenant! This means so much to me.'

She had just been given hope on Christmas Eve 2408. Except it wasn't Christmas Eve anymore because her chronometer chimed the new day. Christmas Day.

Janeway now looked at Torres. 'I know this isn't much to go on, B'Elanna, but it is enough for Starfleet to dispatch a vessel to check on it. I am told there is a Federation survey ship in the area now about two months out. If anything turns up, you know Headquarters will be in touch. If I hear anything I will do the same. I still have contacts there.'

Then Kathryn paused and put her hand right on the screen.

'B'Elanna, I…, well…, you know how I feel about you and your family. I really miss Tom.'

The Federation ambassador nodded quickly and rapidly, biting her lower lip. She placed her right hand on her screen, as well, covering Admiral Janeway's. Unable to speak, she simply mouthed 'Merry Christmas!' The connection ended.

The Federation Ambassador spun around in her chair and closed her eyes. A miracle of sorts had just occurred, for Starfleet now knew where to look. After having spent seven years in the Delta Quadrant aboard Voyager, Torres knew better than to trust in intuition. But now she could almost feel Tom's presence.

For some reason this Christmas Day, B'Elanna Torres knew that her husband was alive.


	6. Stardate 8324452 March 1, 2409

Chapter 6 Stardate 83244.52 Sunday, March 1, 2409

"Captain, we have completed the scanning of the Telos system and are ready to proceed to Deep Space Nine. There is nothing here that resembles a space craft or wreckage, I'm afraid. But at least we have successfully finished our mapping survey."

First Officer and Starfleet Commander Jayne Rissa looked at Captain Amelia Balderas of the USS

Surveyor and awaited a response. So would end yet another routine mission in the Delta Quadrant about one year's travel from the Bajoran wormhole even with slipstream engines. As much as Starfleet had crawled all over this Quadrant using Voyager's reports, there were still millions of places that had yet to be mapped. The Telos system with this uninhabited M-class planet was one of them.

"Fine, Jayne. Tell the landing party to beam up. I want to see their final analysis and…and _what_ _the hell is that?_ " 'Captain to Lieutenant D'Aballo.'

A short delay followed.

Then, 'D'Aballo, here. We see it Captain. It's a beacon, Ma'am, and a big one! Probably five kilometers in height at least. Want us to investigate? It's not far."

"Yellow alert!" The klaxons blared as Balderas hit her comm button. 'Proceed with caution, Matt. I've never seen anything like that. It's pulsating blue-green light in bursts.'

The Captain turned to her First officer, as additional crewmembers exited the turbolift to assume their heightened security stations.

"Jayne, position us near that thing but not over it. Why did it not show up on the initial scans?"

Rissa looked to the operations officer but Lieutenant Junior Grade Jerry Dominick just shrugged.

"It wasn't there before, Ma'am. It just switched on. Wait. Scanners are now picking up what looks to be wreckage. Pieces are appearing on the sensors, as if they were being uncovered. Now I am detecting over a dozen life forms on the surface well beyond the landing party. All human. The wreckage materiel is definitely manufactured but just what it is I have no idea. It is strewn over an area about a kilometer or so in length. Whatever this thing was, it was fairly large and hit the ground very hard."

Then Dominick nearly jumped out of his seat. _What the hell?_

"Ma'am, a Starship just materialized. It's black and unmarked. I don't recognize the configuration."

The comms crackled.

'Captain Michael Stewart of the USS Scorpion to Captain Balderas. Go to secure channel twelve.'

'Balderas…here. On my way.' _Spec Ops!_ She got up and moved to her office. Turning to her first officer, Balderas shouted, "Jayne, take the conn."

Locking her office door, the ship's captain dashed around her desk and sat down. _What the hell is going on?_

'Going secure.' She turned the proper key and entered the daily code. The red indicator light changed to green.

'Secure. Mike, what the hell are you doing here? Where are you?'

The reply came back fast and clear. 'I'm 1200 meters off your starboard, Amy. I need to beam you over. Tell your crew you will be back in a bit. I have a lock on you.'

Within seconds the puzzled Balderas was aboard the Scorpion in the ship's ready room.

"Mike, what is going on? Ships destroyed or not do not just appear on a planet's surface. And neither does a state-of-the-art Federation spec ops warship without a reason."

Stewart offered her some coffee, which she willingly took. "Amy, you are right as always."

Then Mike turned to a man in a plain black spacesuit with green tabs, sans rank.

"This is Colonel John Custer, Amy. He is with Federation Special Operations and we are here on a recovery mission. I am afraid I can't explain the details. Regrettably, I will have to delay your departure and place your ship under MIDAS blackout, for a week or so and maybe more."


	7. Stardate 8351844 June 18, 2409

Chapter 7 Stardate 83518.44. Thursday, June 18, 2409

 _I'm dead._

Tom Paris opened his eyes expecting to wake up dead. He quickly came to realize he wasn't deceased but was instead submerged in some type of yellowish-green gelatinous liquid. An oxygen mask covered his head completely so he could breathe while being suspended in that rather pleasantly warm fluid. But where he was, well, he had no idea.

His attempt to gingerly sit up resulted in a loud 'thunk,' for he smacked his skull into an opaque glass top that covered a long metal cylinder. That impact was sufficient enough to jolt his eyes fully open to take in the network of alien-looking tubes jabbed into his naked body, more than one of them in places he really did not appreciate.

Turning his head side-to-side revealed a very large room similar to a hanger bay. To Paris' right was a second cylinder, this one containing the awakening Charlie Day who was pressing his hands on the glass. To Tom's left was an empty tube; the glass top was swung wide open.

As Voyager's former chief helmsman's fogged brain took in his surroundings he began to hear the steady and dull thrum of engines. _A ship obviously and by its configuration it isn't Starfleet_.

Paris's mind searched his memory to recall anything he had seen like it before and the same answer emerged. No _._

Then a green indicator light appeared on a panel just above his faceplate and the cylinder drained. Soon thereafter the hatch popped open and raised with a slow, measured motion that gave off a nasty hiss as outside air rushed in. Charlie's cylinder was doing the same. Each of the two pilots tentatively removed their masks and carefully sat up, their eyes blinking as they adjusted to the artificial light.

Still a bit dazed, they saw a hatch door slide open on the bulkhead to their left. Miranda Nichols now entered wearing nothing but a white sheet. She was followed by a tripedal alien who turned out to be a doctor. Tom looked the grey being over and his eyes raised. He had seen a creature like this one before. _Undine! Species 8472_.

"Ah, Admiral Day and Captain Paris. Yes, you are alive. The Captain managed to save the three of you right as your ship impacted the planet's surface. Your curious vessel, however, suffered its fate on the planet he was passing at the time. It was totally obliterated. Too bad, those incredible engines and that unique hull were of value…or should I say _interest_ to us. And no, none of you are shaped-shifted Undine."

"Umm…how do you know who I am?" Tom asked the obvious question when encountering an alien who apparently knew you.

"A valid question. As a species we know each other well, at least the Captain does. But that was from decades ago when we once gloriously skirmished. The USS Voyager and your Borg allies destroyed many of our bio-ships both in fluidic space and yours. A sad affair certainly but we hold great respect for the crew of the former ship you piloted then. You are warriors, like us."

The physician moved away towards the hatch. Then he turned slightly.

"Those tubes will self-extract so you can eat and resume normal body functions. You have been unconscious for nearly eight months so it will take time. I will ask the cook to prepare a human-palatable meal." He left and the hatch closed.

Nichols now went to Paris and helped him out of the cylinder. Then she did the same for Day as she took in Tom's nakedness with keen interest. She pointed to two neatly-stacked piles of cleaned clothes to include their flight suits.

"These creatures told me they are Undine. They replicated your clothing from body measurements and what you were wearing. You can get dressed now. They are still replicating my outfit."

Both Tom and Charlie stared at Nichols in a way that she sensed was wrong. She spoke carefully, her voice a bit shaky.

"Umm…I woke up earlier…and then the Undine doctor took me to a medical lab. He ran more tests on me than I ever had in San Francisco when applying for this job…or in Wichita. That is why I am still wearing this sheet. He just finished."

Tom's eyes narrowed.

"What job?" He and Charlie grabbed their clothing and began to dress.

Nichols looked stunned.

"BN-1 flight engineer, silly! What gives, Tom?"

Not looking up, Paris continued asking questions as he zipped up his flight suit.

"What did your boyfriend think about you taking the job?"

Now Miranda looked really confused.

"He…umm...didn't like it so we broke up. Tom, what is this about?"

Paris cocked his head and scowled a bit.

"The Undine race is known to be shape-shifters, Miranda. You know that. Charlie or I or you might not be who we think we are. They use that ability to infiltrate agents and take over key positions. I don't trust them. Ask me something only you would know about me."

Miranda thought about it. Tom was right, of course. She had read a holonovel of his once so she started with that.

"What was the name of your cat aboard Voyager?"

The retired pilot smirked. "Didn't have one. Not until recently. That cat is named Roxy. You've seen her picture."

She had. "What special mark does that cat have, Tom?"

He answered fast. "She's black and white but on her face to the left of her mouth on her chin is a tan mark. The only tan spot on her entire fur bag body."

Tom looked at Miranda very carefully. She was nervous but that was probably because he was questioning who she was. The sheet had loosened to reveal a bit more of her than perhaps Miranda wanted. Or maybe not. He averted his eyes anyway much to her dismay. Then he decided to get personal.

"Who is Steve Bennet, Miranda?"

With that the flight engineer recoiled a bit, surprising even herself.

"Steve! Why…umm…he is a Marine officer I know! He is a Major…at Starfleet."

Paris looked at her and nodded his head ever so slightly as Charlie began to stretch his aching muscles after dressing.

"You told me Bennet gave you something. Something he valued. It was very special and it meant a lot to him if he ever gave it to a woman."

Tom kept his mind focused upon a peanut shell, just in case there was some kind of mind probe being used. Years in the Delta Quadrant had caused him to be suspicious of all things alien.

"What was it?"

Miranda thought a moment. Then a smile appeared on her face as she adjusted the sheet and blushed.

"A miniature gold Marine Corps globe and anchor pin. He asked me to wear it to the 2407 Marine Corps Ball. I turned him down and now…really wish I hadn't. He's…kind of cute." She blushed even more.

Tom laughed. "I suspect he will forgive you, if you ask him. How could he say no?"

Miranda smiled. "Maybe I should ask him to go out with me. If we ever get out of here, wherever here is."

"Hey, when is it my turn?" Charlie began a question and answer session that involved Starfleet

Academy and his time on Gen, revealing details that only Tom knew were true.

The mutual questioning went on for nearly an hour. There was no doubt; the three of them were the genuine article.

Soon thereafter the hatchway reopened and the Undine doctor returned.

"Here is a clean flight suit and clothing for the woman. Captain Cranach would like to meet with all of you now. This way, please."

Miranda dressed quickly while Tom and Charlie followed the doctor. The three were soon within the Captain's private quarters where they were told to sit at a conference table that held trays of what were apparently food items and some glasses of reddish-gold liquid.

Captain Cranach scratched his elongated face, twisted around in his seat, and offered his 'guests' the drinks. At first they were reluctant to accept and the room's atmosphere became very awkward.

Never one to be impolite, mission commander Charlie Day took the lead and had a sip, delighting in the sweet flavor of what was more than decent brandy. He nodded his approval and things became just a bit more relaxed as everyone sipped. Drinking was a universal ice-breaker.

"I suppose you have a lot of questions," noted the bio-ship's Captain. "What I can tell you is that I am in sole command of this vessel, H7F86, a Nicor-class frigate in our extensive fleet. When you showed up I was monitoring another Undine ship that was observing your tests to determine how much of a threat you were. I am sad to say that the other pilot accidently created an anomaly in the Bajoran wormhole that damaged the Nashville. It also caused you to leave the starboard side of the wormhole at tremendous velocity in fluidic space. Fortunately, you arrived near my position in the vicinity of the Telos system. You were traveling at…" He looked at a computer screen. "…Warp 125."

The three said nothing and played with their drink glasses. Then Tom looked at his comrades.

"Telos system? That means we are in the Delta Quadrant!"

"Correct to a point," rejoined Cranach. "You _were_ in the Delta Quadrant. You are not there anymore. But we will get to that."

Taking no apparent notice of their confusion, Cranach continued.

"I used this ship to pluck you from your vessel a split second before impact. You had cut through the planet's atmosphere like it was not even there. Granted you did slow _somewhat_ but unfortunately not enough to prevent gravity and other factors from causing extensive damage to your persons. So I placed you in preservation chambers until I could get a physician aboard. Once that happened you were repaired but that took an inordinate amount of effort on his part. We are not completely familiar with your anatomy. Eight months of your time to be exact. But he did an incredibly good job, you must agree."

He paused to drink. "Ah. This is a very good brandy, yes? It is from my home world. It is such a shame that your clever vessel was destroyed. Quite an ingenious design, Admiral Day. Most impressive."

Charlie looked plain-faced. He had stared down the best of them in his career. "I am sure you got what you wanted from it anyway."

The Undine officer laughed. "I did." Cranach then offered what could only be interpreted as a grin. He did not tell them that the USS Scorpion's special operations unit had recovered everything down to the seat cushions. He had nothing but his observations.

Tom now looked at his comrades who, like him, were understandably nervous. This was not going to turn out well. He looked at the Undine officer.

"So what now, Captain Cranach? What are we in for? Prison for life? An unpleasant lingering death? Replacement by replication? Last I heard the Undine and the Federation were at war."

A grunt was his only response. Then the alien captain spun around in his seat a moment only to turn back to look at them.

"Yes. It is true. The Undine people remain at war with the Federation." He pushed the trays of food at the three humans and indicated that they should eat.

"But not on this ship, Captain Paris."

Now it was Miranda Nichols who looked very puzzled.

"What do you mean not on this ship?"

Cranach stood up and all three humans cringed. But he raised a hand and indicated that they had nothing to fear.

"Because I owe Captain Paris."

Day and Nichols looked at Tom who shrugged. He had no idea what the Undine officer was talking about.

"You _owe_ me? I haven't even met you in my wildest nightmares." That elicited a laugh, from all four of them.

"No, Captain Paris, but you once met someone named Boothby. On a terrasphere, one of thirteen we built a long time ago. Do you recall that meeting?"

Charlie and Miranda had no idea what was going on but Tom nodded affirmatively.

"Yeah! Sure. You created a simulated Academy. Voyager's crew was there and we were negotiating a truce between you, the Borg, and us. We convinced Boothby that we were no threat to you, that the Federation did not even know about Species 8472 and we and the Borg were not exactly chummy. But how does that mean you owe me?"

Cranach shook his head. "You know so little about us."

He again asked the group to eat. "It's not poisoned." Cranach sat back down and ate first from all the trays. "Eat. It is nourishment."

They did. While they were munching collectively on whatever that pile of brownish tasty glop was, the Undine captain began to speak once more.

"The Federation thinks that we live alone and that our bio-ships are one-man operations. That is how it once was decades ago. But at the same time we have evolved into what you would call 'family units.' Boothby, the Undine you met, is a being you would call my…father."

Tom dropped his fork. Charlie nearly choked, reaching for some of that brandy. Miranda kept eating. She was ravenously hungry and this stuff was not bad.

The Undine continued. "My father reported that Captain Kathryn Janeway had proven to be a friend despite helping the Borg to develop weapons that hurt and killed us. She treated Boothby with respect and honor, which in our warrior culture is a cherished obligation to return at some point. Boothby passed that duty on to me. Since Captain…or should I say now retired Admiral Janeway…is not here, I will reciprocate with you, as one of her former crew members."

Tom looked blank; he was too stunned to say anything. Thirty-four years ago Kathryn Janeway had treated an alien being named Boothby with dignity. Now Paris knew exactly why they were still alive. His own father, Admiral Paris, had once told Tom to treat everyone with respect because you never know. He wished his father was still alive so he could tell him how right he was.

Charlie now answered, for the group. "I see. So this is about reciprocation. Okay, so you reciprocated. You healed us and fed us and even replicated new flight suits and personal gear for us. For that we are more than grateful. But Tom is also right by asking what you intend to do with us? If not prison or death or replication, then…what?"

If an Undine could smile, Cranach did.

"What I am doing now. We entered the Alpha Quadrant a month ago. I am taking you home. To Earth."


	8. Stardate 839585 December 10, 2409

Chapter 8 Stardate 83958.5 Thursday, December 10, 2409

"Ambassador Torres?"

A bone-ragged B'Elanna Torres looked up from her draft of tonight's speech to the Klingon Council to see her aide standing before her.

"Yes, Mariah?"

The pregnant Gonzales looked at the PADD she was holding, her hands shaking just a bit.

"Ma'am, we finally received the declassified copy of the USS Scorpion's report to Starfleet. Starfleet apologizes but they had to wait for black program clearance. They are considering this to be…next of kin notification."

"Next of kin?" Torres stared, too exhausted and emotionally drained to say much. She had been waiting and waiting and now the time had come. But to be notified like this! No chaplain. No old friends. Nothing. So cold.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Go ahead." Torres found herself readying for the worst once again. For nearly a year her life had been an emotional roller coaster, one of so many she had lived through.

Mariah sucked her dry tongue, looking for and eventually finding lubricating spittle. _Here goes_.

"Captain Stewart of the Scorpion reported that no bodies were recovered. Just wreckage. There were no human remains to be found anywhere on the planet. They looked…all over and even…under. Plus complete scans of the planet's atmosphere and also nearby space for over 600,000 kilometers. Nearly three months using very sophisticated black program stuff."

She stopped reading and looked up at her boss who was trying to remain calm. This was so hard. How Starfleet officers handled this was beyond her.

Mariah continued. "The report suggests that all evidence indicates that the crew was either ejected into space before the craft impacted with the surface or because the engines were on overload the three of them were…."

B'Elanna's aide stopped and cleared her throat. But B'Elanna was indicating with her left hand that she wanted to hear all of it so she continued.

"Umm… vaporized."

Torres blinked but said nothing.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I can't imagine…." Then her voice trailed off as she thought of her forthcoming baby and her husband. She was so grateful that Starfleet service had never interested him.

Torres crossed her arms and then dropped them and her head on her desk, her entire train of thought broken. _No bodies. All of that time and effort and no bodies._

Looking up, B'Elanna made a request.

"Mariah, please arrange a priority one conference call with Miral and Mike. Then coordinate a second one with Neenah Day and Miranda's parents. Neenah is still near Wichita, Kansas. I think Miranda's family is living in Syracuse, New York. You know how to find people. We can all use a good cry right about now."

Her aide nodded. She always took care of things, pleasant or not. She started to leave but then turned on her heel.

"Still leaving in the morning for Aspen, Colorado, for the holidays, Ma'am? I…have diplomat-class confirmed seats to San Francisco and then onward. Your connections are booked."

Torres nodded unenthusiastically.

"I suppose so. I promised Kathy I would really try to come this year but I am not in the mood. Still, one rarely gets a month off in this line of work so I better be thankful for small favors, yes? Now please leave me alone. I need to finish this speech."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mariah exited the office and carefully closed the door, her eyes filling with tears as she heard her boss break down and sob uncontrollably.


	9. Stardate 8399392 December 24, 2409

Chapter 9 Stardate 83993.92. Thursday, December 24, 2409

After months of travel in fluidic space, Undine ship H7F86 finally entered the planetary system known as Sol, careful to avoid wandering Federation patrols and warning beacons. The ship's captain knew he would be detected anyway but if he moved fast enough there would be just enough time to complete his mission and escape. At least he hoped so.

Captain Cranach watched as three stunned human beings pressed their faces against observation ports as his ship passed Jupiter. He looked each of his guests over, noting their nervous anticipation. None of them had ever thought they would see home again.

"Okay," Cranach said. "So you all know how this will work. You step onto that transport pad and a bubble of white light will form around you to create an airtight cocoon, just as it did when I plucked you off that ship of yours. Then I use a guided light beam to direct you to where you want to be dropped off. The bubble rides the beam and will vaporize when you touch terra-firma. That's it really. Fast and safe. Are you ready?"

All three nodded affirmatively.

Now it was Cranach who was a bit nervous. He was once again worried about the solar system's defenses. Detection warning lights were going off sporadically and his auto-piloted ship was barely staying ahead of the Federation scanners.

"I don't have much time left to execute this mission or I will have to abort. I need to get in and get out before Starfleet can react. Please reconfirm where you want me to drop you off."

Everyone turned quickly to Miranda Nichols, since the Undine ship would be crossing the east coast of the North American continent first.

"Still my parent's house in Syracuse, New York. I gave you the universal coordinates. Do you have them calculated, Captain?"

Cranach indicated 'yes' as he checked the data at a transport terminal. His computer showed green.

"And you, Admiral Day?"

"Still Derby, Kansas. Just outside of Wichita. I want to be with my wife. I really do not know what to say. You are…. I'm so…." He was very emotional now. "Other than to thank you! Oh, God!"

The Undine's eyes watered. He was not human but he had emotions. And also a mate who longed to see him, ever since the Undine evolved to actually have them. Cranach had recalled how Federation contact had changed their species to begin to understand that there was more to life than endless killing and conquest. He was a reformer, one of many who were leading the charge away from the past.

"And once again, Captain Paris."

"Q'onoS." Tom changed his mind from landing in California.

The Undine officer stared, blinked, and then shook his head.

"Even I can't do that! That is in the Beta Quadrant and the Klingon home world is on high alert. We would never get there in one piece. I know you want to see your mate but we would be destroyed. Give me another location and perhaps you can get a ship to take you there."

Tom disappointedly looked at his chronometer. Then his eyes suddenly widened in immediate recognition. He turned to his shipmate friends.

"Do you know what day this is? It is December 24. Christmas Eve, 2409!"

They all looked at each other in stunned silence, the Undine officer not comprehending. In their excitement to get home the BN-1 crew had paid attention only to the Stardate and not the Earth calendar. But Tom's chronometer had kept Earth time and date current.

Seeing that Cranach was confused by their delight, Tom explained what Christmas Eve meant to millions of beings in the Alpha Quadrant, thanks to Christian missionaries. The alien nodded as he listened. He had his own spiritual beliefs. Then Paris said and did something that Cranach would never forget.

"Captain Cranach, this night is very special for Christians all over our world and many colonies in this Quadrant. What you are doing for us reminds me of our history on Earth. On another Christmas Eve, I think well over 450 years ago or more now, our planet was engaged in a horrific world war. But despite all the bloodshed, the soldiers in many parts of the frontline decided to stop fighting. They were caught up in what makes this time of year so special to us. It is a time of peace and reflection and an opportunity to set aside our differences, for just one brief moment. For us to really think and understand what this life of ours is all about. So they, the soldiers, called a truce. The famous Christmas truce of 1914."

Tom saw his comrades nodding in agreement.

"That is what you have done, Cranach. You have declared a Christmas truce. Aboard this bio-ship."

Tom now reached into a flight suit pocket to produce a small, round object.

"The opposing soldiers followed a customary Earth tradition and presented each other with gifts. They were at war and did not have much to offer, some food and maybe extra clothing. But it was necessary for them to do that, to remind themselves not only of the birth of a tiny baby but of three men who traveled so far to present gifts to that little boy over two thousand years ago. A child who changed our world and many more forever. So I will follow that tradition and give you this."

The Undine captain held out his hand and Tom placed a coin in it. It was slightly larger than the antique American silver dollars.

"This is what we call a 'challenge coin.' Military units have had them as mementos for centuries. This one is ours, our mission challenge coin. And this is my personal one. On one side it has our ship and the name BN-1 along with the engraved faces of the crew. Also my name, Tom Paris. On the other side is the Starfleet logo. I give this to you in peace, Captain Cranach, as a Christmas present. A small gift to remind you that we once had met at this time of year. I am, we all are now, friends."

Cranach did not know what to say. They had no tradition like this in his culture and he was overwhelmed. So thinking quickly he reached around his neck and removed a necklace, one made of platinum with a small glass globe dangling from it. Inside of it was a liquid and he handed it to Tom.

"Thank you for your gift, Captain Paris. Since your soldiers exchanged gifts, I give you what my mate gave me before I left home. It is a globe with some fluid taken from our world. She did that to remind me that no matter where I go, Arana, my mate, is always with me. And I am very proud to also call you friend."

He placed the necklace around Tom's neck.

"Now I think it is time. Where to on _Earth_ , Captain Paris? Still California?"

Tom shook his head. "No. I suppose my sister Kathy's winter cabin in Aspen, Colorado, so I can see my family. They try to gather there this time of year. I know there is a space port shuttle nearby to take me to Los Angeles. I can catch a ship to the Klingon home world from there."

The humans waved goodbye and moved to the transport chamber.

Starfleet watch officers would later report a streaking light moving across lower North America from east to west. It then disappeared just as fast as it had come. Some thought it was a shooting star. Others were sure it was space debris.

One young watch officer jokingly called it 'Santa Claus.'


	10. Stardate 8399528 December 25, 2409

Chapter 10 Stardate 83995.28. Friday, December 25, 2409

/ 313 Hurlburt Road, Syracuse, New York /

 _Of all the damned times Muriel has to run out of medicine, it has to be 0230 in the morning on Christmas Day!_

Andrew Nichols stopped looking at the frozen and very old and overgrown baseball field behind his home to peer under the hood of his 2403 Galaxy II Runabout shuttle and wonder why it would not start. The cold weather clearly had a lot to do with it. In Syracuse, it was -10 degrees Fahrenheit and that did not include wind chill. But his wife needed her medication and there was one pharmacy open all night, if he could get to it.

The fifty-seven-year-old paused to look up from the engine, cursing his luck. He was no mechanic. While adjusting his insulated cap with the ear flaps he suddenly saw something, a glowing light in the sky. It seemed to be getting closer like a beam of light. _Probably one of those damned satellites or maybe a security drone_.

He kept fiddling with some wires, not knowing exactly what the hell he was doing. Trudging around the obstreperous vehicle, he gave it a swift but futile kick in the operator's door as he entered the freezing cold cab. His frustration was obvious given his warm breath exiting his lungs more rapidly than normal.

Now he cranked that damned engine for the hundredth time. Nothing. He checked the gauges, which seemed to be online. Then again. Nothing. Crossed his fingers just for luck. Then, 'voooooom.' _Praise the Lord!_

Andrew stepped out with the smug look of satisfaction on his face, his snow boots crunching as he did. As he went to close the hood a voice softly spoke to him, one he recognized immediately.

"You know, Daddy, I warned you about this model. They had a recall on the starter interface three years ago and I see you never got that fixed. So I just hotwired it."

Andrew stood there, a wrench dropping from his hand into the snow.

There in front of him was his oldest daughter, Miranda. She was wearing a flight suit and was rubbing her arms as she shivered a bit in the cold. A Starfleet patch was prominently displayed on her left shoulder. The logo of BN-1 was on her right. 'Nichols Flight Engineer' was proudly exhibited on her black leather flight patch above her left breast pocket.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy!" She ran the few steps to him.

Hours later after the sobbing and excitement and Starfleet officials and a host of others had paraded through the Nichols' home on Hurlburt Road, Miranda took a moment from helping her sister in the kitchen to use a borrowed PADD. She decided to place a very important call, one that would ultimately change the course of her life for the better.

Her PADD screen lit up in about ten minutes, after waiting in a queue.

"Starfleet Headquarters, Federation Marine Corps Section, Lieutenant Roberts speaking. Merry Christmas and how may I help you, Ma'am?"

"Yes! Hello! Merry Christmas! I...ah…hope you can help me. Please? My name is Miranda…Nichols. I was wondering…umm…is Major Bennet in?"

A short pause followed as the Marine duty officer looked around.

"Yes, Ma'am. He's here. Just walking by." The lieutenant turned in his seat. "Hey Major, there is a call for you."

Miranda heard the field-grade officer step up to the office screen and saw him look into it. Bennet was obviously shocked. His mouth opened as he gazed at the excited woman who was looking back at him. A very thrilled young woman who was smiling broadly and wearing his Marine Corps globe and anchor pin on her red cashmere turtleneck sweater.

"Major Ben…net here. Miranda? Is that…you?"

The young woman happily nodded; she nearly burst into tears.

With a voice overflowing with emotion, Miranda Nichols finally got out what she had wanted to say.

"Hi Steve! I bet it's warmer in California than here. Here. Syracuse. Anyway, yes, this is Miranda. Miranda Nichols! Merry Christmas! Umm…I was wondering…what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

/ 315 South Brook Forest Road, Derby, Kansas /

The kids had left earlier, off to visit some old friends on Christmas Eve with the promise they would not make noise when they returned hours later in the early morning.

Neenah Day now moved through her lovely but seemingly empty suburban home, checking door locks and closing blinds. The lights of the Christmas tree burned bright and the timer would soon turn them off.

Neenah looked at her computer screen and turned that off, as well. _0135 hours on Christmas morning_. As she moved to her kitchen she recalled the enjoyable conversation she just had with B'Elanna Torres about an hour ago, although they cried a lot. They were really like sisters now, having gone through so much together since fleeing Gen those many years ago.

As the Gen woman picked up empty cups and dirty napkins, that damned neighbor's dog was barking once more. He was an ugly creature that never shut up but she supposed it was a good thing, even in a safe neighborhood. It was also a good thing too that they were experiencing a mild winter. Thankfully just a little snow this year. Some of the typical ice characteristic of the windy Great Plains made the roads and sidewalks slippery. But she wasn't driving her hovercar or walking around in this stuff. Her visiting kids would take her to church services later in the day.

She pushed through the swinging doors to her kitchen to put the dishes into the sonic dishwasher and close the drapes covering the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Then off to bed, alone once more.

But now Neenah saw something through the kitchen window that was really strange. A beam of white light was spotlighting her yard, right where she had just planted those new verbenas last Spring.

 _What the hell is that?_

She went outside, an empty coffee mug still in her hand as she observed a white bubble descend down that beam. Looking at the mug, she gave it a sniff. _What did the kids put in this?_

Glancing up, she saw Charlie. He was standing there in his flight suit right on top of her expensive plants, just a bit wobbly at his knees after his ride. He dusted himself off and then smiled at his wife.

"Merry Christmas, Neenah."

Now the psychiatry-educated Neenah Day was Gen and nothing in this universe ever surprised her. At least so she thought. But the empty mug nonetheless slipped from numb fingers onto the not-quite frozen ground. She stood there with her mouth agape.

Charlie looked a bit disappointed. "Well, Honey, aren't you going to say something?"

She nodded in awe. Then she flung herself into his arms.

Kissing him passionately, she screamed out, "Where the hell did you come from, Charlie Day?"

/ 2137 Red Mountain Road, Aspen, Colorado /

B'Elanna Torres stood on the electrically-warmed deck outside Kathleen's winter cabin as she stared out at the city lights below her. The air was crisp and clean. It had snowed all day, covering the ground with a fresh blanket of white. The storm clouds had passed now and she could see the stars. At least she thought she could. For a moment it looked as if a shadow was blocking out some of them but that was just old eyes playing tricks.

Her sister-in-law, Kathleen, came outside and put an arm around her shoulder. She had also seen the city lights fade for a moment. _Weird_.

"B'Elanna, why don't you come in? Everyone has gone to bed and it's very late now. It's 0045 in the morning. The fire is still going, if you can't sleep."

The Federation Ambassador nodded and followed Kathleen into the Great Room, taking a seat in one of the leather recliners. Moira often referred to them as 'life-sucking chairs.' One minute after getting in them you fell asleep. So she put her feet up and covered her legs with a very old and tattered hand-knitted throw.

"Any more hot chocolate, Kathy?"

Her sister-in-law indicated yes.

"Sure. I think we still have some marshmallows to go with it. The tiny ones you like."

Kathleen left for a few minutes to return with a tray of hot drinks and cookies to find B'Elanna sound asleep. Adjusting the throw, she decided to leave her be. Her sister-in-law rarely slept soundly anymore.

Looking outside the sliding glass door, Kathleen noticed that the glow from the city was now so much brighter tonight than usual. The weather was so odd and particularly those lights. So she walked over and opened the doorway to step outside and take a peek, so thankful that the deck had an ice melting grid.

Breathing in the clean, cold air, she started thinking out loud.

"I wonder why those lights did that."

"Maybe because I light up your life?"

Kathleen jumped and turned with a start to see her brother, Tom Paris, grinning at her like the Cheshire cat. Her mouth opened in shock as she took in that flight suit of his. Then he was hugging her, tears rolling down his face. She kissed her brother full on the lips, something she had not done in years.

"Oh my God! Tommy! How in the world…?"

Tom shook his head and held his sister at arm's length. "Never mind, Kathy. I'm back. It's a long story for later. But now I need to know when I can catch a hop to Los Angeles. I need to get to Q'onoS. B'Elanna. I need to see her…."

Kathleen started laughing and hugged her brother. "Oh, you will! But you don't need to go that far, Tommy. I don't know what the hell is going on but she's right here. Right in the Great Room. Asleep by the fire in that big fat chair of Daddy's."

Tom looked into his sister's eyes, absolutely stunned. "Seriously?"

She nodded furiously and opened the sliding door.

Kissing his sister on the cheek, Paris moved carefully inside. Kathleen followed him in, closing the door and then holding her hands to her face as Tom cautiously moved forward, afraid it was a prank.

But there, right by the Christmas tree in that fat leather chair, was B'Elanna. Sound asleep.

Tom walked over and gently knelt down, taking his wife's right hand in his. Then he kissed her forehead ridges and ever so softly he whispered in her ear.

"maj dok."

B'Elanna smiled automatically; she was dreaming about better days. But now her eyes fluttered open to look up into the face of her husband who was just beaming.

Kathleen was crying uncontrollably. Not being able to take it anymore, she turned and ran from the room into the kitchen.

B'Elanna was dumbfounded. "Tommy? Please, God, tell me I am not asleep. Please." She touched her husband's face. He needed a shave.

"No, B'Ella. You're not asleep. I'm here. Just for you. Special Christmas delivery."

Realizing that this was actually real and not a dream, B'Elanna put her arms around her husband's neck and pulled Tom down to her to kiss him passionately, her tears rolling down her face to mix with his.

"Tom, how...? Who could have…?"

"Sssssshhh." Tom placed a finger softly on his wife's warm and wet lips. Then he reached underneath the throw and picked her up, her arms remaining around his neck as natural as can be. Her husband obviously knew this home intimately and exactly what room he was carrying her into. This was going to be one heck of a Christmas morning.

"Saint Nick, Honey. He did it."

B'Elanna looked at Tom in awe, still astonished even as he closed the door to the bedroom with his foot. He then spun her around so she could secure that old fashioned latch lock. After he placed her gently on the bed, they stripped and crawled under the covers together.

That was when Tom noticed his wife's quizzical look even as they hugged and kissed.

"What?"

B'Elanna's brown orbs now stared into her husband's blue eyes.

"Saint Nick, Tom?" She laughed out of nervousness and joy.

Tom kissed his wife's neck and smiled. Then he removed the platinum necklace with the fluid-filled globe he was wearing and handed it to his wife.

"Yeah. And you know what? He's Undine."


End file.
